


A Rough Night

by skybluebuttons



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: ABDL, Established Relationship, Infantilism, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-21 02:02:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11933997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skybluebuttons/pseuds/skybluebuttons
Summary: Francis gets a call from England late one evening, needing his Papa.





	A Rough Night

France was halfway through a glass of red wine after a long day of work when he received the call. To his delight, he saw England's face on the screen. Normally, he was the one to initiate contact.

“ _Bonjour!_ To what do I owe this delightfully unexpected pleasure?” He crooned to his boyfriend.

Silence.

“Arthur? Are you there?”

Shuffling on the other end, as if the caller was fumbling with the phone. Then, a slurred: “hi Papa,” followed by a loud hiccup.

Francis held the phone away from his mouth, exhaling a sigh and collecting himself. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy talking to his Little Boy; rather that it was clear he'd been drinking. He worried about him.

“Hello, _petit_. Papa's happy to hear from you.” He let the words sink in for a bit before asking the important question. “Have you been drinking, baby?”

Giggles, interrupted by the occasional hiccup, came through the speaker. “No!” his boy denied fiercely.

He opened his mouth to call him out on his lie, but heard loud sniffles before he could. “Yes,” England amended in a watery voice. “Is Papa mad?”

“No, Papa's not mad, baby,” he soothed. “But he does want to help make it better. Can you put the alcohol away for Papa? Then you can tell me what's wrong.”

He was surprised when England obeyed his commands with little coaxing, placing the bottle of gin back in its proper cabinet. Though he whined a little when asked to start drinking water, he brought it with him and sipped on it as France tried to get him to open up about his day. _That_ took much more sweet talking on his part.

“I-I messed up bad today,” he finally slurred. “And e-everyone's mad at me for it, 'cuz it's gonna take a long time to fix. A-and I-,” his breath caught, and Francis waited patiently as his boy struggled to get out his hurt. “I was just trying to take a break, g-get away from it for a bit until I could handle it better and I was in such a rush that I-” he choked on a sob, and Francis shushed him soothingly, murmuring comfort.

Arthur's next words were nearly a whisper as he confessed. “I ran into the Queen. _Literally_. I almost knocked her over I hit her so hard.”

“Oh baby,” he tried to soothe as his Little devolved into sobs. “She's a kind woman, Arthur, I'm sure she isn't upset with you. It was a simple accident.”

A frustrated whine came from the other end of the phone. “Which is why I feel so bad about it... she w-was nothing but nice and sweet and I'm a big stupid head for nearly tripping over her.”

“Ah-ah,” France _tsked_ disapprovingly. “What does Papa say about those words?”

A snuffled sigh. “That Little Boys shouldn't say bad words.”

“And?”

Arthur's next reply was much softer. “...and that I should be nicer to myself.”

“Because?”

There was silence for a long time before Arthur's voice came through, wobbly. “'Cause I... 'cause...” A loud sniffle met his ears as his Little started to break down. “I want Papa to say it!” Arthur whimpered.

“Because you are amazing, you are good enough, and you are worth it. And above all, you are so very cherished and loved, _petit_.” He heard Arthur's sharp intake of breath as he tried to hold himself together. “It's okay to cry, _bébé_. Don't hold it in. Papa's here.”

Finally the dam burst as England finally let out all the hurt he was feeling, wailing and sobbing his little heart out. France shushed and soothed, murmuring comforting words to his Little Boy who'd been hurt by the world. “Papa is so proud of you for how hard you tried today. I've got you, and I'm not going anywhere baby.”

“I want Papa _here_ here,” Arthur whined as his cries died down.

“Papa will be there in a bit, darling.” He was already making calculations in his head, on when he could catch the next train to London. “For now let's focus on getting you comfy. Are you still in your Big Boy clothes?”

“Mm-hmm.” He could hear the grumpiness in his baby's voice as he sniffled and wiped at his face. “I took my tie off though.”

“That's a start. But you're much too young to be in a suit, Little Boy. I think it's time we got you into some baby clothes. After all, you're just Papa's Little Baby Boy, aren't you?” Francis cooed, knowing it would help ease Arthur into a calmer state of little space.

“Yeah...” From the quiet mumble he could tell England was sucking his thumb, but decided to ignore it for the time being. “Let's get you up to the nursery and out of those silly adult clothes. How does that sound?”

“Good,” came the same shy mumble, followed by soft footfalls as he pattered upstairs. It was a testament to how rough a day he'd had, that he was being so docile and obedient, looking to Francis's every word for guidance. “I'm in the nursery, Papa.”

“ _Ç'est merveilleux_. Thank you for being such a good listener, Arthur. Now, ready to take off all those icky Big Boy clothes?” Arthur mumbled an affirmative, and Francis coaxed him into shucking off the shackles of his adult life. He even made a game of it as Arthur put him on speaker phone, sing-songing as he “ _pop, pop, popped!_ ” every button of his shirt until Arthur was giggling and declaring he was all done.

“Is Papa's Little Boy all nakey?” That earned him another shy giggle, and it was music to his ears; Francis took pride in the small victory of his Little's improving mood. “Papa's so lucky to have such a well-behaved boy. Now why don't you pick out a diaper baby? We can't be having any accidents, now can we?”

“Uh-uh.” He listened as Arthur selected a diaper for himself and laid back onto the changing table.

“Alright baby, big listening ears, okay? I know Papa's not there yet but he's gonna help you put your diaper on.”

“Okay.” England sounded unsure.

“I know you can do it, _mon prince_. You can do anything you set your mind to.” He waited for his words to sink in, hoping they'd help his shy boy feel a bit better. “Ready?”

“Yes Papa,” came the quiet lisp. He proceeded to guide his Little Boy through placing his diaper right and powdering himself. After all the rustling had stopped and the last tape was secured, he heard a breathy little huff. “I can’t do it good like you Papa…”

Francis felt warmth blossom in his chest, knowing that was one of the ways his boy was saying he needed him. “That’s okay, _petit_. Papa will fix it later. Now let's get you into some jammies. What does my Little One want to wear?”

He waited patiently in the quiet that followed as Arthur pondered the options of his closet. Then, a timid: “Can I be a unicorn, Papa?”

He couldn't hold it in any longer, gushing over Arthur's adorable behavior. “Oh, Papa has the cutest Little Boy in the world! Of course you can be a unicorn, precious!”

Despite not being there, he could picture the blushing grin he was sure England was wearing perfectly. He heard a jangle as his eager boy pulled his unicorn kigurumi from the metal hanger. A few grunts could be heard as Arthur wiggled his way into his favorite attire for Little Space, before proclaiming that he was done.

Francis released a mock gasp. “Where did my Little Boy go? He was right here and now there's only a baby unicorn!”

An eruption of giggles sounded at that, followed by a shy neighing sound.

Happy to hear Arthur's laughter, he kept up his theatrics. “Ah, I suppose I need to care for this little baby, since I don't see a Mama or Papa unicorn around. I think a certain little unicorn looks tired after how far he must have traveled to get here. Why don't you lay down for a nap?”

“Noooo...” Arthur whined. Francis should have guessed; as his good mood returned, so did his Little One's stubborn nature.

“Oh? Papa can tell you are tired, little one. Why ever not?”

France could tell England was sucking his thumb as he pondered, trying to push back against what his Papa knew he needed.

“Unicorns don't sleep in cots,” he informed matter-of-factly. Francis couldn't help but chuckle; Arthur's imagination was endearing.

“Perhaps not. But you are only a baby unicorn, _oui_? And all babies sleep in them, dear,” Francis replied evenly. “Is my little unicorn missing something for his nap?”

“Mmhmm.” His boy was beginning to grow cranky. Francis doubled his efforts in trying to get him to bed.

“Hmmm, what does my baby need for his nap time yet? Papa can't seem to remember...”

“Biscuits?” Arthur asked hopefully.

“No silly boy, sweets are not for naptime,” he couldn't help but chuckle at his Little's mischievous side. “I'm sure there is something...”

“Dummy!” England chimed in eagerly.

“Oh, of course! How could Papa forget? You are so smart,” he praised. “Why don't you get your dummy for your nap?”

He listened as Arthur (thankfully) obeyed this time, feet pattering across the floor to obtain his treasure before returning to and laying down in his crib. Francis had no doubt Arthur was already hugging his many stuffed animal friends close to him. “We want a story, Papa!”

“Ah-ah, Arthur. You know better than that. Ask nicely.”

He heard a tiny sigh, before his Little's voice turned sweet once again. “Will you read us a story Papa? Please?”

“Of course, baby. Thank you for asking nicely.” He snatched his tablet from the coffee table in front of him, already pulling up the stories he'd saved for Arthur; they'd had many nights like this one. “What story do you want to hear tonight?”

“Peter Pan? Please Papa?” Francis could never deny that sweet voice anything.

“Of course, darling. All comfy?” Once Arthur gave the affirmative, he began.

“ _[Wendy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eslMGeOePxo) Darling and her brothers, John and little Michael, were restless. It was almost their bedtime, but they weren't sleepy at all...”_

France's voice drifted through the phone's speaker, reaching out to his Little Boy as best he could with the distance between them. It wasn't long into his reading before Arthur stopped chiming in with his sleepy mumblings, and Francis was certain he'd succumbed to sleep.

He listened to the soft sounds of his breathing a few moments more, even calling his name softly, until he was sure England had been lulled to sleep. Hanging up the phone, he closed the tab of the story he'd been reading, pulling up train schedules in its place and booking the one that would get him to London as soon as possible.

In between packing a bag for the weekend, he managed to finish his glass of wine and lock up the house, hailing a taxi and heading to his destination as quickly as he could.

His Little One needed him.

~♥~♥~

He arrived to a dark, quiet home and breathed a sigh of relief knowing England was still sleeping. Setting his belongings down, he flipped on the lights to the kitchen and went about making him a warm bottle of milk, knowing it would help soothe his Little One once he woke him up.

Deeming the creamy drink warm enough, he made his way upstairs to the nursery, eager to finally see his baby boy. With soft steps he crept into the room, peering into the crib to check on Arthur.

His pacifier lay abandoned amongst the blankets as he snored softly, still holding his stuffed bunny rabbit tight to him with both arms.

Francis frowned as his eyes traveled down, noticing the wet spot underneath him. In his not-quite-sober state, his Little One mustn't have stuck the tapes correctly and his diaper leaked because of it. Consequently, this meant he'd have to change him out of his unicorn jammies, which he knew would upset his poor boy.

Setting the bottle on the table next to the rocking chair, Francis picked out his set of Peter Pan PJs to change him into before lowering the crib bars and bringing Arthur into his arms.

Understandably, England started to fuss from being woken up and moved so suddenly. “Shh, baby. Papa's here. I've got you.” He returned the dummy to Arthur's mouth and made sure he had a hold of his stuffie, to give him as much comfort as possible during his change.

Arthur clung to him and buried his face in Papa's neck, whining behind his pacifier when he was sat on the changing table and looking to Francis with forlorn eyes.

France couldn't resist that sad look, and hugged him tight without picking him up. “Papa needs to get you changed out of that wet diaper, _petit_. We'll cuddle as much as you want after that, okay?” He pressed a kiss to his crown, waiting for Arthur's sluggish nod. “Good boy.”

He helped Arthur lay down and started unbuttoning his pajamas, sliding the elastic over each of his feet to free his bottom half from the kigurumi. France steeled himself; now came the hard part. He hoped his Little wouldn't fight him too much in his sleepy state.

Reaching up, he started slipping the fabric from Arthur's shoulder and managed to free his arm from it. Arthur blinked, turning to look at his now-bare arm before looking to his Papa quizzically. Francis reached to do the same with his right arm, but Arthur grabbed the material tight in his fist and shook his head stubbornly.

“Nooo,” he whined. “'m a unicorn.”

France couldn't hold in his sigh; he knew this would happen. “Oh baby. You'll always be Papa's baby unicorn, but right now we need to get you out of these wet jammies and into something dry, okay?”

Yet another frantic shake of his head, as Arthur curled into himself.

“Yes we do, _petit_. I don't want you getting a rash. Let Papa get you changed, please.” Honestly, he knew Arthur had had a rough day and was also cranky from his nap, so he was trying to give him as much leniency as possible, but he couldn't just let him sit in his mess! He tried to sweeten the deal. “Papa will be sure to dress you in something just as cute, I promise.”

Still Arthur clung to the fabric stubbornly, shaking his head continuously as Francis spoke. “Papa's going to count to three, to give you a chance to help him. But one way or another, once I get to three your jammies are coming off, Little Boy.”

The stern voice didn't sway Arthur, so he started his count.

“One...” The little one simply ignored him, still shaking his head 'no'.

“Two...” He stopped only to set his jaw and glare up at France defiantly.

“Three.” His hands came down, firmly removing the Little's hands from where they clutched the fabric. Arthur struggled against him, even attempting to kick him, but from his position above Francis was better able to utilize his upper body strength and finally managed to wrangle the rest of the fabric from his Little's grasp. He balled the material up, turning to toss it in the dirty laundry hamper for now.

When he turned back, Arthur was crying, wiping at his eyes and nose, and his heart broke.

“Papa's _mean_!” he sobbed, refusing to look at him.

France sighed, hating that he'd been right and was left with a distraught Little. “ _Bébé_ , please don't cry. Papa will get you cleaned up and in a fresh diaper, and then we can pick out something cute together, okay?”

“S'not the _same_!” he cried, turning his face into the table and sniffling pathetically into his stuffie, seemingly content to ignore him.

He wasn't sure there was anything he could say that would get Arthur to stop hating him in that moment, so he got to work changing him. After he'd tossed his dirty diaper in the bin and wiped him until he was clean (making sure to clean his hands with a fresh wipe as well), he pet Arthur's side, trying to soothe him.

“Papa knows you've had a hard day, _petit_. And I know you're upset about having to wear something different, but Papa's only doing it 'cuz he loves you and doesn't want you to get hurt with a rash, okay?”

No response. England was giving him the silent treatment, one of his favorite games to play when he was in a stubborn mood. Maybe he could bring him out of it? Francis leaned down and gave his tummy a raspberry.

No giggles or laughter, his Little Boy just squirmed and flinched away, curling up and pressing his face harder into his stuffed animal.

He sighed in defeat, reaching under the changing table for a new diaper for Arthur. Tucking it under his bottom, he laid it out correctly before powdering him. Normally Arthur would cooperate with him (raising his bottom when Papa asked him to, babbling at him in baby talk), but not tonight. His boy confessed to him once that he usually liked slower changes in headspace, since it made him feel more babyish, but Francis hurried with the change. Neither of them seemed to be up for that tonight.

Once the last tape was secured, he tugged Arthur up, bringing the pajamas into his view. He tried one last time to be sweet. “Are these okay? Or would you like to pick out new pajamas with Papa?”

In response, Arthur stubbornly looked anywhere but where Francis asked him to, pressing his lips together firmly. That was enough of an answer for him. He brought the cotton shirt over his head, pulling it through and over his arms and tugging it down over his tummy. Next, he eased the bottoms up over each leg, pulling them up and laying Arthur down to lift them up the rest of the way and snapping the elastic over his diaper. Arthur didn't fight him, surprisingly, but he certainly didn't help him either.

He was still sulking by the time his Papa finished and sat him back up, lip wobbling as he took in his new outfit. “But... I wanna be a unicorn,” he whimpered, voice wavering. He started crying again, tears trekking silently down his cheeks, unlike the loud sobs from before.

France's mind raced for a solution. Arthur was misbehaving to be certain, but he still couldn't bear to see his boy so sad and crying. Arthur's Little side had certainly made his once-rival soft. Finally he remembered something that might cheer his prince up, and he dashed over to and started rummaging through the closet. It had to be here somewhere...

“Aha!” Triumphantly, he dashed back over to Arthur with his prize, plopping the hat on top of his head.

Arthur blinked, bringing a hand up to feel the soft fur against his cheek from where the attached hooves of the hat dangled down to his waist. Francis cradled his Little Boy's face, wiping his tears away with his thumbs. “See? Still my little unicorn.”

He remembered that [the unicorn hat](https://www.amazon.com/SMOKO-Magicorn-Hoodie-Built-Pockets/dp/B00NV4T7GU/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1501188523&sr=8-1&keywords=unicorn+hat+with+paws) had been a bit of an impulse buy on Arthur's part when he'd slipped into Littlespace one day while out shopping. It was certainly coming in handy now. To his delight, a shy smile broke out over his face as Arthur put his hands in the mittens.

France picked him up from the changing table, carrying him over and sitting him on his lap as he relaxed into the rocking chair. Grabbing a tissue from the table nearby, he wiped the remainder of England's tears away before pressing it firmly to England's nose. “Blow,” he instructed, relieved when his stubborn Little actually listened. “Better?” Arthur gave him a watery smile and a nod, and Francis just quietly rocked them for awhile.

With a start he remembered the bottle of milk, wincing as he realized it was probably lukewarm by now. Maybe Arthur would still want it?

As he gently rocked the two of them, he brought the bottle to Arthur's mouth, only for his charge to turn away with a whine.

“ _Non_? The milk might help you feel better, _Monsieur_ Fussy.”

England brought his hand up to nibble on nervously, belatedly remembering that it was covered in the mitten and awkwardly dropping it back into his lap. “I dun' feel good, Papa. I-I'm not tryin' to be bad.” He looked to him forlornly.

A thought occurred to him then, and he couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it earlier. “Baby, did you eat dinner tonight?” If he felt sick, it would certainly explain some of his bad behavior.

Arthur peeked up at him before wordlessly hiding his face in his shirt. Ah, he worried as much. “It's okay if you didn't, Papa's not mad. I just need to know so I can help you feel better.”

His Little One came out of hiding and with one last worried glance up at him, shook his head softly. “No, Papa.”

Which meant that he'd been drinking on an empty stomach. No wonder he'd been behaving so poorly; he was no doubt feeling horribly nauseous.

“That's alright. Papa will make you something light to eat to make your tummy feel better.” He moved to stand, intending to carry England with him down to the kitchen, but was stopped by Arthur whimpering and pressing his face to his middle.

“ _Petit_?”

“Not yet? Please, Papa?”

A warm smile spread across his face as he sat back down. “Okay. We can rock for a few more minutes, baby. But after that you need to eat something, alright?”

Arthur nodded, burrowing back into France's chest, happy to finally have some snuggle-time with his Papa. Francis returned to their quiet rocking, content to cuddle with his Little Boy now that he seemed to be in better spirits. It was Arthur that finally broke the silence.

“You're fast, Papa,” the Little Boy murmured. “Did you use magic to get here?”

Francis chuckled. “ _Oui_ , my darling boy. Peter Pan knew how much you needed me and helped me fly over to you quick as I could.” He brushed Arthur's bangs away from his forehead, only to be met by his Little glowering up at him.

“Papa's a fibber,” he replied cheekily. “Peter Pan doesn't like adults. He'd never ever help one!”

His cheeks pinked; Arthur was still smart as a whip when he was little. He gave the boy's diapered bottom a light swat, not enough to hurt, but as a warning. “That's not very nice, to call Papa names.”

The glare turned into a pout as he looked away. “S'not my fault Papa's fibbing,” he mumbled, only to be met with a harsher swat. “Owww!”

His voice turned stern. “We do **not** call Papa bad names, petit. Understand?” England squirmed, looking anywhere but at him. Francis raised an eyebrow at him, tilting his chin up to meet his eyes, seeing if his boy was going to continue to argue. “ _Understand?_ ”

“Yes,” he muttered, crossing his arms and glaring down into his lap.

“And we also do not try to kick Papa during changes. That wasn't very nice, was it?” Arthur shook his head grumpily. “That's right. And you want to be a nice Little Boy, don't you?”

England whined, collapsing back against France's chest and hiding his face. “Yes Papa. I'm sorry.” A tiny, pathetic sniffle met his ears.

“Oh baby, it's okay. The important thing is that Papa's here now and isn't going anywhere. I've got you,” he cooed, rubbing Arthur's back soothingly.

England clung to him, face still buried against his chest. He pet his hair, pressing a kiss to his crown. “What does my prince want to do this weekend now that Papa's here, hm?”

The Little Boy turned his head, resting his cheek against France's midsection as he scrunched his face in thought. It wasn't long before a smile lit up his features. “I wanna have a tea party!”

He couldn't help but chuckle; it was one of his boy's favorite playtime activities, of course he'd want to have a tea party. “Then a tea party we'll have. With all of your stuffies invited.” He booped Arthur's nose playfully. “But for now, it's dinnertime. Ready?”

Arthur nodded, and Francis stood with him, carrying him downstairs to the kitchen. His Little seemed content to be close to his Papa, hugging him with both arms and legs. It made his heart soar to finally see his Little Boy feeling better.

Walking into the kitchen, he switched on the stove-top light alone, worried that the brightness of the overhead lights would give Arthur a migraine or make him feel worse overall. He set Arthur down in his high chair, ducking under his hat to give him a final smooch on the forehead before locking the tray into place and going about making his supper.

Dinner was a quiet affair, lacking the typical flair and flamboyance Francis typically presented when preparing meals. He made Arthur a simple chicken broth and served it with saltines, ensuring that his boy would get some food in his stomach, while the fare was still light enough not to upset it.

Once it was warm enough, he spooned some into a bowl and grabbed some crackers before setting it all down on the tray.

“ _Petit_? May Papa take your hat off while you eat? I don't want my baby unicorn to get dirty.” He expected Arthur to fight him on this, and was surprised when he agreed, taking his hands out of the hooves and placing the hat on the table. “My, but Papa's boy is behaving so well!”

Arthur flushed and squirmed under the praise, a pleased smile dancing on his lips. Francis took the opportunity to distract him by showering his face in kisses, while tying a bib around his neck. The Little Boy's giggles turned to grousing when he noticed the bib.

“It's only for a little while, baby.” He raised a spoonful of soup to his boy's lips after blowing on it. “Now open up.”

He spoon-fed Arthur the soup, who nibbled on the crackers all by himself. His heart swelled with how agreeable he was being right now. He was a proud Papa.

To his surprise, about halfway through the bowl of soup, France's stomach growled noisily. ...Had he not eaten dinner? Racking his brain, he realized he'd been so preoccupied with Arthur's well-being that he hadn't stopped to even think about feeding himself. His cheeks pinked. It was hardly something he should be doing, when trying to be a good role model for his little one.

Arthur stopped in the middle of raising a cracker to his mouth to look at Francis concernedly. “Papa too?”

He rubbed his neck awkwardly and shrugged. “I guess so.” He raised another spoonful of soup to his boy's lips to try and move on from the conversation. Arthur should be worrying about his own health, not his Papa's.

Arthur dodged the spoon and Francis blinked as a cracker was suddenly thrust into his face. “Papa needs to eat too.” He couldn't deny his determined look, and chuckled at the thoughtful gesture.

“ _Merci, petit_.” He obligingly took the cracker into his mouth, finishing it before speaking again. “That doesn't mean you get out of finishing your dinner, however. Open up.”

It didn't take long, and Francis was pleased to see Arthur finish everything that he gave him. Once he cleaned Arthur's face and finished the dishes, he picked Arthur up and carried him to the couch.

Arthur happily cuddled up to him as he relaxed into the cushions, and he was happy to return the hug, bringing an arm up to rub his back. Between the low light from the kitchen and the long day they'd had, he could feel everything catching up to him. His eyes slip closed, happy to have England in his embrace. It was late. His Little Boy shouldn't even be up this late, let alone wide-eyed and awake and having just eaten dinner.

“Papa?”

“Mmm? _Désolé, petit_.” Without opening his eyes, he pressed a kiss to Arthur's forehead.

He could feel Arthur's smile as he nuzzled into him, and they stayed there for awhile, warm and dozing. He must have nodded off at some point, as the next thing he knew Arthur was standing and tugging at his arm.

Groaning a bit from being woken, he opened his eyes, surprised at the darkness. Arthur must have turned the light off while he was sleeping. “What is it, _lapin_? Need a change?” Instinctively, he reached to check Arthur's diaper with his free hand, only to have it grasped too.

“No. Bedtime for Papa.” He sounded in charge and much less little. With another tug, this time to both arms, Francis finally stood from the couch, yawning.

“That does sound nice, thank you, _bébé_.” Arthur didn't let go of his hand as he marched up the stairs, and he was content to let him lead. He was steered to the bathroom, where England switched on the small night light. He let go of his hand, picking up his own toothbrush and handing Francis his, looking at him expectantly. France obeyed, brushing his teeth quickly, more than ready for bed.

Once they'd finished, Arthur lead him to the bed before releasing him. Francis had brought pajamas in his overnight bag, but the thought of going to grab them was entirely unappealing. Instead, he simply stripped before crawling into bed. Arthur was still standing, seeming hesitant and tense, so Francis patted the space next to him. “Come lay down, silly. It's bedtime, remember?” He said through a yawn.

He visibly relaxed and slid under the covers next to him. Francis immediately spooned him, throwing his arm over his body and nuzzling his neck, breathing in the sweet scent of baby powder and Arthur's shampoo. This was nice.

They lay there in companionable silence until Arthur finally spoke, all traces of littlespace gone from his voice. “Thank you for...everything. I appreciate you coming all the way out here just...for me.” Francis could hear the underlying worry in his tone, that voice of doubt that told Arthur that Francis didn't want him when he was little. Despite his constant reassurances of how much he adored his little side, he hadn't quite vanquished that voice of doubt from Arthur's mind, but they'd get there.

“Even if it might not have seemed that way at first,” he continued. Ah, a slight apology for his bratty behavior earlier.

“Mm, how do you know I didn't come here for entirely selfish reasons? Perhaps I simply came here so I could stare at a cute boy and spend the night with him,” he teased. He didn't have to see his face to know Arthur was blushing. He kissed his neck.

“Seriously Arthur, I will be here whenever you need me. Rain or shine, big or little. Nothing will ever change that.”

“I love you,” Arthur blurted. His voice sounded a bit thick.

Francis turned Arthur in his embrace to look at him, cupping his face. “I love you too, Arthur. Now and always.”

Arthur buried his face in Francis' chest, shaking. Francis threaded his fingers in his hair, showering him in kisses and murmuring reassurances, letting Arthur get it out of his system. It'd been an emotional night for him.

“Thank _you_ for taking care of me too, _mon chéri_ ,” he murmured as Arthur started to calm down.

He peeked up at him with a smile, sniffling. “Papas need taking care of too.”

His heart swelled and he hugged him tight, unable to resist kissing him. “And what a lucky Papa I am, to have such a perfect Little Boy.”

Arthur blushed more at that, but his smile broke into a grin. “Sap.” He sighed happily regardless, relaxing further into the embrace. “Let's sleep, love.”

Here in the arms of the person he loved most, he couldn't recall ever feeling happier. “Alright.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Guess what? I still have no idea how to end a fanfic (someone, please help me. I'm begging you).
> 
> Anyway, I had a lot of fun writing the dynamic of my favorite Hetalia couple ever! (They are so cute!) This was another prompt from tumblr and I'm so thankful for the opportunity to write these two! ♥
> 
> Obviously I claim no ownership or affiliation with the unicorn hat, or Peter Pan. I simply think they're cute and things that Little!England would enjoy.
> 
> All the French is Googled and I apologize if anything is incorrect.
> 
> Translations:
> 
> bonjour - hello  
> petit - little one  
> bébé - baby  
> Ç'est merveilleux - That's wonderful  
> mon prince - my prince  
> oui - yes  
> non - no  
> Monsieur - Mister  
> Désolé - Sorry  
> lapin - bunny/rabbit  
> mon chéri - my darling
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed! If you did, please drop me a message or a like; feedback is adored!


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